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I miss Holland. A lot. Especially right now- the warm spring, the sun peeking out, all the tulips blooming and the entire place a colorful explosion. Flowers everywhere. It was the best.

So picture my delight when a friend told me about the Wooden Shoe Tulip Farm, right here in Oregon. About an hour’s drive from Portland, it’s just a family run farm with tulip fields, kiddie rides and what I can only describe as carnival food. It was cute. And I was immediately reminded of the beautiful tulip fields in Holland. Checking out the wooden shoe carving booths, I hunted around for people with whom I could possibly practice my Dutch (starting to get rusty), but no such luck. Can’t have it all.

Dad and I took yet another day trip (see Astoria and the Gorge; our others) up to Washington, hoping for a glimpse of Mount St. Helens, an active volcano that famously erupted back in 1980. As we approached the visitor center, we had high hopes. Once inside, we learned that several roads were still closed due to snow. Snow? What snow? It was completely melted up to that point. We drove in as far as we could, passing snow piled up as tall as the car (oh), stopped in the middle of the road, and waited, thinking that the clouds would part to get a good look at her flat-top.

No such luck. As you’ll see in the pictures, we only got a slice of the pie this time. Ironically, the entire following week was so clear that we could see St. Helens every single day all the way from Portland. Looks like Dad has to come back again.

Visitor Center. Mount St. Helens, WA

Pretty scenery. Mount St. Helens, WA

Abnormally large clovers. Mount St. Helens, WA

Snow as tall as the car. Mount St. Helens, WA

There she (sorta) is. On the right, you can see the slope. Mount St. Helens, WA

A better look in the crater. Mount St. Helens, WA

Winter Wonderland. Mount St. Helens, WA

Verdict? It’s worth a shot. Even though we didn’t see the full monty, there was something special about my Dad and I leaning on the hood of my car, in silence, watching the clouds. You don’t get those moments very often. That was a good one. I won’t forget it.

Another day, another adventure. With my dad visiting, we thought it’d be as good a time as any to trek out to Mount Hood. Only an hour’s drive from Portland, Mt Hood is several things: the highest point in Oregon (roughly 11,200 ft), home to 12 (!) glaciers, almost year-round skiing and considered an active volcano (though not likely to erupt, or explode in the near future). Pretty impressive, huh? We can usually see it towering over the city like a watchful eye or something. Its icy white peak stands alone.

The trip was sort of a bust in that we drove completely around Hood and didn’t see a wink peak of her. Why? Because although Portland has been a balmy 60-ish degrees, Mt Hood looked like this:

Mount Hood, OR

That’s right. A totally NOT balmy 30 degrees and covered in snow and clouds. Oh well. My dad will just have to come again to see her.

It wasn’t a total waste. We drove the Gorge (again) and stopped at the truly magnificent Multnomah Falls. Gorgeous scenery, flowering groves, inspring panoramas and not a snowflake in sight. Oh, and a pit stop at Full Sail Brewery in Hood River. So really… not even close to a waste at all.

Troutdale, OR

Mount Hood National Forest, OR

Hood River, OR

Full Sail Brewery, Hood River, OR

Multnomah Falls, OR

View of Vista House (teeny tiny on that overlook), Columbia River Gorge, OR

Sorry for the radio silence the past few days (weeks? I don’t even know what day it is).

I wish I could combine, in some way sum up, all the travel I have ever done in my life for this travel reflection. To keep this from getting out of control, I cut it down to these six similar images. It’s funny, all these pictures are all quiet moments I had while traveling over the past couple years. (Thanks for the shots, Jaro.) What’s funny about them is I can’t believe those are all of me. I mean, it looks like me. It’s my bod. I do not really remember being there. But all of it seems like a distant dream, a lifetime ago, something that may never really have actually happened but just been fabricated by my overactive imagination, when really it has only been a few months. Why?

Because I am now a homeowner.

Every single one of my thoughts is focused on this darn house. Every waking moment, I’m consumed by ideas for how to address the storage problem in our bedroom; deciding the right shade of paint color in our living room; getting those last few moving boxes out of our dining room. And don’t get me started on the renovation we want to start immediately on the bathroom.

Is this what happens? Instead of sitting on the floor daydreaming about trips to foreign lands, imagining myself sprawled on a deserted beach, dwarfed in a towering forest or lost in a crowded city, I’m distracted by the dust bunny in the corner and scramble over to catch it. Or find myself wondering how that little scratch got into the hardwoods and what I can do to fix it. Or sit there and go back to my paint color debate… It’s taking over 100% of my brain space. Is this what having a baby is like?

If so, I don’t think I’m ready.

Don’t worry – I’m not adding a pregnancy announcement to this post or likely any one soon. The house is enough for now. Still. I can’t believe how energy-zapping it is. How tired I am. How drained. And alarmed that my priorities have shifted so much. Not that it’s a bad thing. I’m proud we own a house. Right now, it’s just taking over my every waking thought a little time-consuming.

One saving grace: After 5 months of being apart, of living in other people’s spaces or the hollow hole of corporate housing, we are now reunited with our trinkets, big and small, from all of our travels. I finally dusted off that old globe from the Russian flea market and lovingly draped the blanket haggled from a Moroccan souk over a chair. I see these things and all the others, and smile. I’m pretty lucky to have visited a lot of incredible places.

Home may be here in Portland, but it is also all over the world.

Here’s to quiet moments, wherever they are. Here’s to being (finally) settled. And yet, here’s to re-igniting the little fire inside that beckons – but there’s so much more.

Hey all! It’s a sunny Monday and we are officially within the two week mark until we move into our house. After a great weekend, I can’t be anything but excited as we enter this final stretch getting into our home. We’ve been literally displaced for four and a half months now and emotionally displaced for eight and a half. I am so ready to feel settled. Beyond ready. Let’s be real.

For this Monday travel memory, I have a confession to make: I am totally awe-struck by the ocean. Anybody else? My entire life, I have felt this compelling urge drawing me to it. For awhile, I was even considering being a marine biologist and I’m pretty sure it’s because I thought I could play in the water everyday with dolphins or something.

Maybe it’s due to my upbringing in the Midwest; I was far, far away from any coastline and it always felt like this magical, imaginary place that I was lucky enough to see once a year when we would take family trips down to Florida. It was special.

Lake Michigan, while great (get it?), was not the same. It was not enough. And now, I live 90 minutes away from the Pacific Coast here in Oregon. We have gone out to it twice (here and here). Still, when I see signs on the highway pointing to “Ocean Beaches” I can’t help but do a double-take. Oh yeah, it’s right down the road.

As a kid, I loved playing in the sand, collecting shells, chasing crabs. As a teenager, I loved laying out under the sun, listening to TLC and N’Sync refined musical selections on my discman; my skin getting so fried to a crisp tanned that I was unrecognizable. As an adult, I do those things (now with strong SPF), but also just stare out and watch the waves. Feeling small. I know I can only speak for myself, but I tend to have a big personality (probably to make up for my petite size). Sitting and staring out at the ocean, is humbling in a way. You can’t help but feel small.

This photo was taken one early morning on the rocky shores when we road-tripped through Croatia. I think as I age, I become more and more captivated by the sea. I can sit there in total stillness for hours. Mesmerized. So how fitting is this shot? A quiet moment of calm at the insanely gorgeous Croatian coastline near Pula. Wish I could be back there.

So, yesterday I shared the coastal part of my trip to Cali, today is the next installment when we drove north from the bay. Our first stop was Guerneville, a somewhat remote town on the edge of some majestic redwood forests. It’s a tiny one-street “downtown”, perfect for stopping and stretching your legs.

Then we headed into the woods. We explored nearby Armstrong Redwoods State Reserve. The thing about redwoods, if you didn’t know, is that they’re really tall. Like 300 feet tall. And they’re really old. Like 1,300 years old. This is what we saw as we walked among the giants…

Pictures really don’t do them justice. They be huge. And reserve itself is really nice and close enough to the bay that you can get your redwood fill without having to drive four hours up to the national park. (Though I still want to visit there sometime.)

After a morning “hike” through the reserve, we obviously needed refreshments and headed into wine country. Not far away in the Russian River Valley, was a stretch of small, adorable wineries along a country road called Westside. We stopped at Matrix (which does not distribute) and tried maybe 8-10 wines for only 5 bucks! Try finding that kind of deal over in Napa. Traveler Tip: Want to experience the vineyards without all the hype (or the traffic)? Check out the options in the Russian River Valley. They are much more low key. I definitely suggest it to fellow wine lovers out there!

After that grueling morning, we realized we were becoming hangry. So we drove over to Calistoga, a sweet town at the north end of the Napa county, for lunch. Stopped into Checkers for some hearty salads and then continued merrily on our way down the Silverado Trail through all those lovely vineyards. Traveler Tip: The Silverado Trail runs parallel to the main drag through Napa, Route 29, but is much less congested. Highly recommend if you just want to drive through Napa and take in the scenery, but not necessarily visit the heavy hitters like Sterling or Robert Modavi (you’d have to get on 29 for them). These were our views…

We finished out the day in Sonoma. Traveler Tip: Sonoma is the underdog of Napa Valley. Don’t get me wrong, I love the glamour of Napa and Yountville from my last visit, but with that comes higher prices and more people. This was a different experience and maybe that’s because of the time of year too. February isn’t as hot a ticket as September. I guess I’ll have to go back again to be sure. Anyway, it took a bit of effort to climb over the ridge to get to Sonoma, but it was so worth it. I’m definitely making it a priority the next time I’m in the valley. Such a pretty town, with a cute main square and lots of little boutiques and wine bars. I only managed to get this shot of the sunset over the trees…

Happy Friday, cats. My post earlier today was totally impromptu; it spilled out of my brain since I’ve been alone this week. Also, I felt all out of whack that I didn’t write one yesterday. So bonus, today you get two. Back to our regularly scheduled programming…

As I woke up to another dreary gray day in Portland, I so desperately wanted a warm, sunny getaway. Since we’re closing on a house later this month, I can’t exactly justify a trip to Mexico. But god, I was ready to cry say whatever house and book myself a ticket to somewhere warm. I still might do it.

BUT. Doesn’t a road trip through Big Sur sound like the way to go? It’s a breath-taking stretch of California coastline that I just want to devour. With my eyes. I mean, just take in this picture:

And I’d just love my sun-soaked life. California dreamin’ indeed. In related news, the sun is now out. Need to scramble outside quick.

Have a charmed weekend, friends.

xxx

P.S. That first image’s blog source cites Big Sur as a romantic getaway. Valentine’s Day is a mere two weeks away, if you know what I’m saying. I’ll casually suggest that this hotel looks splurge worthy.

Happy Monday, kids. It’s a cold, wet day in Portland, but what’s new. Got a recent (and sunny) memory to share. Last Monday, Jaro had the day off (let’s not forget why) and we decided to head to the Oregon coast. We needed a little breather from all the house hunting stress. A two hour drive through pine forests lead us to Cannon Beach- a quaint, little beach town filled with art galleries and cafes. So cute. We strolled through town, wandered down a huge stretch of sand and finished the afternoon warming up over made-from-scratch clam chowder.

It will be interesting to see how our definition of travel changes as we adjust to life back in the U.S. We have to realize that not all travel needs to be exotic or foreign. Sometimes, it can be a short ride away. More on that later.